


the great and lonely god.

by eihas



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi is a Shinigami, Akira is some sort of Mononoke, Gen, roommates au, supernatural beings au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eihas/pseuds/eihas
Summary: akira kurusu is an immortal mononoke who has lived for centuries, causing havoc and trouble for other spirits in his quest to find a way to end his long existence. goro akechi is a shinigami with no memory of his past life looking for a nice place to live now that he's finally gotten a promotion at work. to both their displeasure, they accidentally end up as housemates.supernatural beings in a modern setting. / loosely based off the korean drama 'goblin'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry if they seem ooc i promise things will make sense when i feel like making things make sense haha what

_This is truly an unjust game... Your chances of winning are almost none. But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you_

_...I beg you._

_[          ]._

* * *

 

“What was it like in Japan during World War II?” Mishima asked, eyes glistening with utmost fascination. “I mean, it was absolutely devastating for sure after we lost, but like, during its weird imperialistic prime, was it like the textbooks say? I know the teachers have a habit of glorifying the old days or whatever, but --”

“Kid,” Akira interrupted, leaning back against the chair, head hanging off the side as he nursed a hangover. “I was in Canada then. I got caught up fighting a Wendigo. Please be quiet.”

“You fought a Wendigo?! For the entirety of World War II?!”

“Holy shit. Please. Shut up. Headache.”

Mishima closed his mouth, gripping the edge of Akira’s armrest with a sort of jitteriness that he couldn’t contain. The peace lasted for a mere few seconds until he started up again.

“Did the Wendigo speak Japanese or can you speak Canadian?”

“Yuuki Mishima if you don’t shut up right now I _will_ curse you.”

He shut up. 

* * *

Akechi tugged at the sleeves of his suit, pulling them back over his wrist after checking his watch. He was perfectly punctual, as per usual, looking absolutely impeccable. He wore a white suit, his chestnut neck-length hair brushed back and pinned fashionably, the heels of his glossy white dress shoes clicking as he set down his metal briefcase and rang the doorbell.

The house was lovely, a large clean place just outside of the city, a quiet get away from the bustle of the metropolis. And still, the bus station was only a block away. He could hardly believe he had found a place so perfect. And the owner was offering it for so cheap too!

…

It was a little suspicious, he had to admit.

He rang the doorbell one more time, before he heard an unholy clatter inside the house, like something just crashed against the floor. Akechi frowned.

Within seconds, the door burst open, and a young man wheezed as he leaned against the handle, clutching his chest, looking absolutely frazzled. Akechi took a step back in shock.

“Oh! Oh, are you that .. th .. hang on give me a second,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. Akechi stared at the man wheeze for about two minutes, unblinking.

Mishima would’ve felt a lot more unsettled if he were paying attention.

“I’m Yuuki Mishima, you must be Goro Akechi,” he finally gulped, after taking a second to swallow. “Sorry I … I dropped something.”

“So it seems,” he replied tonelessly.

“Erm, come on in. Take a look around,” Mishima said, stepping aside and letting the man in.

Akechi took off his shoes, sliding into the slippers available at the front. He stared blankly at the fluffy bunnies on his feet, but trekked on.

“So uhh …  yeah, this place belonged to my uncle. He’s gonna be out for a few years, he’s moving in with his mistress in Australia so he let me rent it out. Is that briefcase the only thing you brought?”

Gloved fingers traced the fine decor, a modern twist on a Belle Epoque style. The kitchen was wide and clean, marble counters and ceramic cups lined in rich wooden cabinets. The living room was spacious, two large black leather sofas beside a glass coffee table, a flat screen TV that looked relatively untouched. The dining room had an almost obnoxiously long table, with two chairs at each end, a small chandelier hovering overhead. And next to the living room was a hallway that seemed to double as a greenhouse and place to dry laundry, as a rack hung over a park bench beside the dewy glass and numerous lovely plants. And that wasn’t even touching upon the second floor.

“Where is it?” Akechi asked.

“What?” Mishima jumped, notably nervous. Akechi paid it no mind.

“The broken object.”

“I … what?”

Akechi stared at him again with those dark brown eyes. Mishima wanted to shirk away.

“You said you dropped something. It made a large sound. I would like to inspect the damage.”

“Oh! That! No, uh, don’t worry about that! I already cleaned up. Yeah.”

Akechi continued to stare at him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, it did not feel okay.

He turned to check the rooms on the first floor, opening up the spacious bathrooms and lovely neat little closets.

“It seems the previous occupant has forgotten to take some of his belongings,” Akechi noted dryly, running his hand through the numerous winter coats.

“Oh! Uh, yeah! He just said to leave them, there’s plenty of closet space in your room upstairs.”

“Hm.”

Akechi closed it with a sharp snap of his wrist, and Mishima jumped at the noise.

“Uh … do you want something to drink? We have uh … well--”

“You have food stocked in a house that no one has been in for a week?”

“I prepared it for you,” Mishima lied swiftly.

“Hm.”

He stalked down the hallway, as Mishima trailed after him, blabbering about his uncle and his messy habits, how he wasn’t actually his uncle but they just called him his uncle because he was older than him and his family had always taken care of him because of his poor lifestyle habits, but it was okay because they got paid for it really well, they took care of his assets too, so really it wasn’t a bad deal and --

“Don’t go in there!” Mishima cried, jumping in front of a particular door. Akechi raised a brow.

“Why not?”

“It’s … it’s my uncle’s office. It should be locked but I left th--”

“You know, you’ve been acting awfully suspicious, even before I stepped into the house,” Akechi said coldly. “Going on and on about your uncle who I suspect, at this point, does not even exist --”

“Hey! He definitely exists --”

“And even if he does, I suspect he is not having an affair with his mistress in Australia.”

Mishima blanched immediately, his grip on the handle turning to putty as Akechi pushed him to the side and ripped open the door.

It was a bedroom, not an office, and it was absolutely dark, the shadowy outlines of a bed, a desk, and an ungodly amount of miscellaneous items cluttering the floor and shelves. There was a soft _meow_ as a cat-shaped creature got up from the lump on the bed and jumped off, stalking over to the open door and hissing at Mishima, who was looking like he wanted to run away.

“Oh god, Morgana please --”

“Hello?” drawled a voice from the bed, as the lump tossed and turned until a figure popped up from the sheets. Mishima groaned, his face in his hands, as Akechi turned to switch on the light.

“Oh fuck,” the man said, as the room lit up. He held an arm over his eyes, his black hair in a monstrous disarray, stretched out shirt exposing the white of his collarbone. “What the fuck Mishima?”

“Mr. Mishima,” Akechi said, closing his eyes slowly as the man rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Who is this?”

“That’s … uh …”

He looked down at Morgana, who appeared to be glaring at him.

“That’s my uncle.”

“Who the hell says I’m your uncle?” called out a grumpy Akira Kurusu.

* * *

The three sat at the living room, Akira still rubbing his temple with one hand and holding his glasses in the other, sitting with his legs apart and a childish slouch against the back of the sofa. Akechi, on the other hand, was sitting perfectly still on the other sofa, back straight and posture stiff. Neither of them touched the tea on the table in front of them.

“I don’t drink this shit,” Akira snapped, clearly annoyed at the situation.

“It’s good for hangovers, I read about it online,” Mishima said softly, standing in front of them both, holding the tea tray to his chest.

“You know what’s good for hangovers? Not inviting fucking Goro Akechi to my damn house.”

“Are these your slippers?”

“Oh my god those are my favorite and you ruined them with your awful feet.”

“I didn’t realize _mononokes_ had a penchant for fluffy bunny slippers.”

“God, can you just fucking leave?”

“You of all people should not be asking God for any favors.”

“You can’t!” Mishima cried. They both turned to him, and he felt like he was going to melt under their scrutiny.

“Why is he here?” Akira snapped.

“Why are _you_ here?” Akechi snarled.

“This is _my_ house.”

“You’re mistaken, this is _my_ house.”

“What?! Mishima!”

“Okay! It’s out! I’m sorry!” Mishima cried, clutching the tea tray closer to him. “I rented out your house!”

“You did _what_?! Why?!”

“You’re leaving for Australia soon anyway, aren’t you?! You said so last month! Why leave the house empty when you can rent it out and make some money?”

Akira stared at him, his anger cooling to his usual quiet flavor of rage as the last traces of his hangover faded away.

“Mishima, it’s _Hifumi_ who’s going to Australia this week, not me. I just got back to Japan like two months ago, why would I leave already?”

Mishima gave him a withering look.

“I … misheard.”

Akira groaned.

“Just … give him back his money. I’m going back to bed.”

“I think not,” Akechi chimed in, picking up his teacup. “I’ve already made plans to arrange my work around this area. If anything, I think you should leave.”

“It’s my house. What, can’t you shinigami just teleport? Is the bus fare too expensive for you?”

The cold sarcasm did not go undetected.

“I’m sure a mononoke such as yourself could conjure up a number of illicit ways to obtain another residence, as you likely have done to acquire this one. Unfortunately, I live a straight life and will not be inconveniencing myself on your behalf. I have work tomorrow.”

“I have a priestess friend who could probably kill you.”

“Friends with a priestess? How ironic. You can’t kill a shinigami, but I’m sure she knows a thing or two about expelling you.”

If looks could kill. Mishima swore the room temperature dropped several degrees. It

didn’t help that frost had started forming on the sofa where Akechi was sitting.

“Well uh, it looks like you two are getting along great,” Mishima piped up, swiping the tea tray back into the kitchen before grabbing his coat. “And it appears that, for some bizarre reason, you two know each other already so that’s wonderful because I can’t give you back the money I already spent it on the production for my new Youtube documentary so I guess we’re all just gonna have to be roommates here alright I gotta go see you bye!!”

The door slammed shut before either of them could really process what he said. And by the time the car pulled away from the driveway and screeched down the road, the two were already too late as they got up, yelling out the window.

**_“MISHIMAAAAA!!”_ **

Every window of the two story house shattered, shards landing in the perfectly manicured lawn below.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akechi and akira have breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i wish i knew what i was doing. but this fic is fun, even if its a bit ooc. so im just keep writing heh

The two sat across from each other at the absurdly long black dining table. And yet, it still felt like there wasn’t enough space in between them. The room was icy on Akechi’s end, frost forming at the tips of his slippered feet. They were not fluffy bunny slippers this time.

On Akira’s end, though, he was perfectly peaceful. He took a sip of his homebrewed coffee, flipping through the newspaper, wooden chopsticks stuck in a box of refrigerated takeout Chinese. He didn’t even bother microwaving it. Akechi took another bite of his salad, a lovely mix of healthy vegetables with a touch of a white wine vinaigrette he had made himself this morning. There was a company meeting today, a lunch party with his coworkers, so he would have to eat lightly this morning.

Akira slurped another greasy noodle on the other end.

Akechi swallowed.

“I thought you were in love with me,” Akechi said.

Akira kept reading.

He cleared his throat.

“I thought you were in love with me, Joker.”

He finally looked up from the paper, hair tousled and glasses crooked.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

He said it with such stylish grace that Akechi almost choked on a piece of lettuce. Akira was smiling, a deceivingly innocuous expression, as he took off his glasses delicately and closed the arms, placing it on the table. It was a motion benefiting something with a little more class than a strange messy man sitting half crossed legged at a luxurious dining table, eating cold fast food next to a grease-stained newspaper.

So much for throwing him off. Akechi burned at how easily Akira retaliated.

“1924. There was a girl who was supposed to die. The car was supposed to crash into her as she biked on a red light and kill her on impact.”

Akira’s smile faded, the newspaper falling beside the cold takeout as he leaned his hand against his chin.

“She was supposed to have died and I was supposed to have collected her. You saved her. She lived that day and died in 1957 instead. My coworker took her to the afterlife.”

“So?”

Akechi’s brow furrowed.

“That was the first time we officially crossed paths. And you kept doing it after that. I had to fill out so much paperwork to explain away your behavior.”

His grin reappeared.

“Good stuff. Love the nostalgia moment we’re having here. You wanna get to the point?”

“Why did you save her? Just to mess with me? Because that wasn’t the only time you did it.”

“ _ Absolutely _ . I relish in the expressions you make when you realize the amount of overtime you have to work in order to make up for that one soul I whisked away from your filthy death-ridden grasp,” he replied with a straight face. “It’s proof of my undying love.”

“I’m serious, Kurusu.”

Akira groaned, picking up his chopsticks and digging around the plastic container for a chunk of chicken. 

“You’re too self absorbed. You aren’t the only one who ended up with the extra paperwork. Plenty of poor shinigami around the world have had to deal with my antics. Finish your rabbit food.”

“You find fun in bothering us. In messing with our work,” Akechi cut in, his fork sitting back down on the table. “Yet you were angry to see me at your doorstep. And you haven’t attempted to ruin my daily life yet.”

“Oh. Oooohhh. That makes sense. Are you paranoid, Akechi? Are you worried that you’ll wake up and I’ll have changed your bedsheets to something embarrassing and have taken a photo to send to your colleagues? That is absolutely tempting.”

“You can’t take pictures of shinigami, we don’t appear in photographs,” he replied quickly, shooting the mononoke a glare.

“You have no sense of humor.”

“And you have an awful diet.”

“Take out is quite literally mankind’s greatest accomplishment,” Akira shrugged, digging back into his greasy noodles. “You get stuck in the middle of the Canadian wilderness for ten years fighting a local demon, you’d give up on the wildlife greens too.”

“Let’s make a pact.”

“I don’t believe in making deals with the devil.”

“I am not the devil, I am the envoy of the afterlife now make a fucking deal with me, Akira Kurusu.”

He slurped a noodle.

“What do you want?”

Akechi leaned forward, his hands tucked under the table as he stared him down.

“We are, unfortunately, living in this house together. As someone who has paid good money to be here, I hope that you will not attempt to sabotage me in my line of work or my life at home.”

“It’s my house, idiot. I’ll draw dicks on your paperwork if I want to.”

“In exchange for leaving me alone, I will provide for you a service.”

Akira looked up.

“Will you do my dry cleaning?”

“No, not that.”

“What about my laundry?”

“Kurusu, no--”

“Are you okay with folding my underwear? If there’s an occasional bra in there, it’s Ann’s, she thinks my house is her clubhouse--”

“Kurusu, I will not do your fucking laundry nor will I pick up your dry cleaning,” Akechi said sternly, his voice raising in aggravation. “I will erase memories for you.”

Akira stopped properly, the smirk on his face wiped clean as the light in his eyes changed, his countenance twisting into a cold glare.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m serious. Shinigami are given the gift of erasing memories. It’s how we prepare souls for their next life, why people are born without memories of their previous existence. And while we exist with a foot in the living world, we can just as easily step away without warning by erasing the memories of the people we interacted while we were there. We have the ability to change what they remember. I’m sure an immortal existence such as yourself would benefit from this opportunity.”

He felt a smirk grow on his own face, the sweet victorious feeling of having thrown Joker off his feet tickling his stomach.  _ Take that _ , he almost wanted to say. Akira had gone silent, his glare softening into a trance-like reverie, as he gazed off into some sort of old memory. Akechi stabbed another leaf, wiped it against the vinaigrette left on the plate, and gracefully ate it. 

“Shinigami, I have some bad news…”

“Oh?”

Akechi turned his attention back to him.

“I don’t know if all that’s worth seeing your face when I hide all the toilet paper in the house.”

The remainder of Akechi’s salad jerked as he unwittingly turned it into solid ice.

“I see,” he replied tonelessly.

“Yeah. Sorry. Still need someone to do my laundry, though.”

“Fine.”

“Nice.”

* * *

“He’s such a stuck up, I hate shinigami. They’re all work and no play,” Morgana complained as he jumped on Akira’s lap, putting his paws up on the desk. “Did you see the way he acted at breakfast? Like he owns the place! What a creep.”

“I know. I love it, it’s like he’s digging his own ironic metaphorical grave,” Akira snickered as he swiveled in the office chair, scootching in front of the desk. Morgana jumped on top of his papers and books, curling up in a little cat bed that had been left on the corner of the table just for him.

“You don’t like him, though? I thought you liked to mess with shinigami.”

“I do,” he said simply. “I just don’t like that they’re in my house. Especially not with my permission.”

Morgana sniffed. “That stupid Mishima. I gotta admit though, I didn’t peg him for the type to pull something like that off. I’ll give him what he’s due.”

“That’s true. I should take away his credit card for a month.”

“I think he’d actually cry if you did that. It’s a bit too cruel to do to a college student …”

Akira hummed as he flipped through a pile of notebooks, leather bound and sewn seams with messy writing in different languages.

“By the way Morgana, did you hear what that shinigami said over breakfast? About when we first met in 1924?”

“Oh yeah, what a weirdo. You definitely messed with him way before that, I remember stealing his stupid looking hat while you caused a whole trainwreck back in like, what was it, 1870? He and his coworkers looked like they were going to turn the whole place into an iceberg,” Morgana snickered. “I guess he didn’t see us, though.”

“He remembers me saving some girl.”

“What?”

Akira leaned against his hand, scooting out and giving himself a little more leg room.

“He said I crossed paths with him when I saved some girl he was supposed to take away.”

“What girl?”

“I don’t know. I meant to kill the guy in the car.”

Morgana laughed.

“What a weird guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft bro fun. the rest of the phantom thieves r all supernatural beings too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goro has a day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Take Caution for the implications of suicide in this one thank you team

The girl who sat across from him was one of his more jittery patrons, her leg bouncing up and down as she gazed around the emporium. She shrank into herself, her shoulders hunched and her arms pressed between her knees, as she looked about the chamber. There was a blue chandelier overhead, a simple bit of decor for the rather plain room. 

The man who had brought her here had his back turned to her, the clinking of ceramic cups and calming scent of jasmine tea easing her nerves. He didn’t seem terribly frightening, she thought to herself, as she picked at her nails. He had approached her first, wearing all white and smiling pleasantly. In one hand was his briefcase. In the other was a black card and white envelope.

“Shiho Suzui,” the man said, turning around with a cup of freshly brewed tea. She perked up.

“Y-yes?”

He sat down, placing the tray on the wooden table, leaving the tea in front of her. She nodded in a slight bow, but she made no motion to take the drink. The man sat down in front of her. There was a pregnant pause, a tense silence before she finally gave him a tired sigh.

“This place … is there a reason I’m here?” Shiho asked slowly, scratching the back of her head nervously. “The last I remember is … being in the hospital and …”

“I think you already know why you’re here, Miss Suzui.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I see.”

She raised a hand to her eyes, fingers pressing against the lids as she wept quietly.

“Your fight is over. You did a good job.”

“What fight? All I did was run away,” Shiho sobbed, pressing her knuckles against her tears. “Now you’re here to punish me for it.”

The man sighed, a quiet exhale, as he offered his open hand. She took it, shoulders shaking.

And all at once, flashes of different lives whisked before his eyes, different men and women in different clothing in different places of the world, laughing and crying and _living_. He swallowed.

“You’ve had a difficult life,” the man said gently, giving her hand a comforting shake before slowly retracting from the touch. “But you can rest easy now. I am not going to punish you. I am here to guide you to your next stage. That is my only role.”

Shiho sniffled.

“Drink,” he said gently. “You will forget what happened in this life, if you do so.”

He folded his hands on the wooden table, face stern and voice soft. 

“What’s after this?” she asked.

The man shook his head.

“Up to you.”

Shiho wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, taking the cup with one hand and drinking it all in one gulp. The man closed his eyes, sighing softly.

“You may take the door to your right,” he advised.

She nodded, anguish-streaked face relaxing into something more drowsy, something more calming. In a light stupor, the girl stood up from the table and marched towards the exit.

“Mister Angel, I came through this door,” she drawled.

The man looked up, shock drawn on his usually composed face. Angel? He didn’t bother to correct her.

“I know,” he said.

“Okay,” the girl smiled. “Thank you.”

The door clicked as it closed shut, and the room was empty again. The drip of the faucet echoed in the hollow chamber, the man at the table sitting unusually still as he sighed. Finally, he got up, washed out the empty cup, and hung it back on the hook to dry.

The door where the girl had left had vanished entirely, along with the entire east wall. It had disappeared as soon as she had left, and the man walked out to where a cavernous space had opened up. The room was dizzying, neat rows of cubbies lining the walls. Inside the cubbies were glowing paper lanterns, and inside the lanterns were candles. The ones that were still aglow were swiftly ignored, as the man walked towards a particular shelf. The ones that had gone out had been boxed in with a glass front, a black name card with a date of birth and death displayed behind the case.

The man traced his gloved fingers along the wooden shelves, gently humming as he searched for the one that had most recently gone out.

“Ah,” he noted softly, as he found a cubby with a darkened lantern and without a glass. He raised the papered frame, exposing the candle inside, where the whisk had disappeared. “Shiho Suzui” was carved on the wax.

The man put the lantern back, laying the card in front of it. And with a gentle sweep of his hands, a glass cover appeared at the front of the cubby.

With that, Goro Akechi dusted his hands, put on his coat, and left the Velvet Tea Room.

* * *

“I heard you moved into a new place,” Sae greeted as Akechi sat down beside her and tucked his briefcase under the seat. “How is it?”

“‘Really nice' is a very shallow assessment of my new establishment,” he said with a smile. Akechi stood out like a sore thumb among the patrons at the restaurant table, a man in white among a huge group of men and women all in gray and black suits digging into their sushi and chatting, laughing and enjoying the meal. A particularly rowdy group was sitting at the very end against the wall, yelping as they dared another to eat an unnecessary amount of wasabi. Akechi withheld a cringe.

“How fun.”

“Hah … let them have this. Our line of work is such a somber one,” the woman chuckled, taking a sip of her own sake. “Ever consider having a housewarming party? The division’s been waiting to hear back on that since you said you found the perfect place.”

“I’m afraid all thoughts of having a housewarming party have left the building,” he said apologetically. “It turns out I have a roommate that I didn’t plan for.”

“A roommate?” she raised a brow. “And you didn’t anticipate it? That’s not like you.”

“It seems I don’t have much of a choice in the matter; the owner in the house was not, as advertised, off having an affair with his mistress in Australia.”

Sae hummed.

“I’m not sure how you fell for such an obvious lie, but sorry to hear that.”

“It wasn’t obvious.”

“It was very obvious.”

Akechi took a shot of sake.

“What the director said during the meeting ...” Sae began again, dipping her sushi in a sauce. “Looks like  _ we’re _ going to have to deal with this nonsense.”

“Missing souls … how are we even supposed to deal with something that vague?” Akechi groaned. “Phantom spirits, of all things … it's not as if we can just go out and find them when they don't even have a proper name.”

“Well, it sounds like we’ll know what we’re dealing with when we see it. The department director’s got no idea how to fix the problem, but it sounds like a number of them actually fall under our jurisdiction now.”

“Us?” he said weakly, shooting her a withering look. “I just joined this district.”

“A promotion isn’t just a pay raise, it’s an equal raise in responsibility,” she said simply, shrugging as she took another bite of her meal. “The day I got my promotion to this district there was a trainwreck in Shibuya. A freak accident, it startled everyone. It wasn’t fated to happen. I had massive amounts of paperwork.”

Akechi raised a brow.

“I was there for that, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, we were on our way to my celebration dinner. That was a complete nightmare. Anyway, besides the awkward paperwork, I don’t actually see how phantom spirits are going to cause a problem in the current system. Unless they make a big impact in the living world, I suppose. I’d leave it alone for now, just take it as a warning to be on the lookout.”

“That’s unlike you to say,” he commented. “You’re usually rather strict about these things.”

Sae sighed, leaning chin against her wrist as she hummed in frustration. “To be honest, I’m more concerned about this whole memory thing going on.”

“Oh yes, I’ve never heard of something like that until now … For a shinigami to gain memory of their past lives … quite frankly, I’m not sure if it’s a curse or a blessing.”

“Oh trust me, it’s a curse. Keep this between us, but Kobayakawa in Division 34 killed himself, I hear. Couldn’t take the guilt of what he did as a human,” she said sternly. “Given what it takes to even become a shinigami in the first place, I’m not surprised.”

“He did what?!” Akechi choked on a piece of sashimi, eliciting the looks of his coworkers around him.

“Hey, don’t get too excited, Goro!” a man three seats down laughed. The rest of the table chortled along, and Akechi smiled sheepishly as he took a sip of water. 

“Keep it down,” Sae whispered sharply. “This is between us. Who knows what level of panic that kind of news will spread? I only know since I was keeping tabs on Kobayakawa for the director. Hasn’t been submitting any paperwork for the past week, apparently.”

“That really is strange,” he agreed. “But more importantly, why are you telling me something so classified?”

Sae gave him a long look.

“You know why.”

Akechi took another shot.

* * *

The TV was on, playing some sort of talk show program. Akechi wasn't paying attention, shuffling onto the leather couch in a hoodie and sweats, sipping his cup of tea as he read through documents. He was sitting cross-legged at the coffee table, flipping through different files until he picked out the unfinished paperwork of Shiho Suzui. He plucked it from the pile, filling out her name and date of death at the top of the paper and then beginning his summary of her experience in the Velvet Tea Room. She was already aware that she was dead. She had taken the tea without complaint. She had cried a bit, but did not ask any eye-catching questions. She peacefully passed onto her next stage.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

She had retained some form of awareness, enough to have asked about the door.

Akechi scratched that down, his handwriting perfect and smooth. It wasn’t a huge complaint, a number of souls liked to mention that particular fact, intrigued by whatever meaning or metaphor it may have held. Still, he liked to be thorough, and thorough he was. Somewhere along the centuries, he had managed to grasp the perfect balance between detail and summary. His coworkers fucking loved him.

He signed off her cause of death and finished the document. There was no space for his ‘name’ nor a ‘signature’. Just a row of boxes where his ID number went.

Well, it was up to the archival department to figure out where this went now. For all he saw of her numerous past lives when he had held her hand in the Tea Room, he had no idea what her names had been. The ones who issued “Shiho Suzui” to him should know anyway. He closed the document and just settling in his seat when a loud bang interrupted his peace. He jumped from the couch, jerking his head towards the commotion.

“Honey, I’m home,” Akira called out, slamming the door behind him with his foot as he swung a plastic bag of snacks. “Did you miss me?”

The pen in Akechi’s hand snapped. Ink spewed all over his fingers and stained his sweater sleeve.

“You came out of the closet.”

“I did that two centuries ago actually. I’m bi, thanks for asking. The gender part’s coming soon to a theater near you, so sit tight.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” the shinigami said sourly. “I know teleporting is easier and all, but it wouldn’t kill you to just enter through the front door. You’re going to blow your cover like this, and you can’t even erase memories to fix the problem.”

“The front door’s locked,” Akira replied simply, dumping the bag on the kitchen counter and digging out a Pocari Sweat. “You know the keycode in?”

Akechi paused, thinking intently.

“I didn’t have to, Mishima let me in the first time.”

“And all the times after that?”

Akechi paused again.

He returned to his paperwork.

“I’ll take your silence as defeat. So what door did you use to get in?” Akira asked, popping the can open.

“...”

Akira took a long sip.

“The closet as well.”

“Ah…”

He smiled serenely.

Nothing like the sweet taste of victory and the grapefruit flavor of a Pocari.

“How was your day, honey?”

“I did your laundry so please stop sabotaging my peaceful home life,” Akechi replied flatly, piling up his files. “I left your lady friend’s set of underwear in your room as well.”

“You make an amazing bride, Goro,” Akira said, voice just as deadpan as Akechi’s. “This will be a great house for the kids, too.”

Akechi could swear he heard a snicker from the cat, who had jumped down from Akira's shoulders. He grabbed his stuff and walked upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Don’t run around up there too much, I can hear every creak of the floor from my room!” the mononoke called, taking another sip of Pocari. The cat jumped on the countertop, nuzzling his wrist. Akira grinned, handing Morgana the can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akechis losing hair and i still have a vague idea of where the hell im going with all of this
> 
> 1\. the velvet tea room isnt the same as the velvet room. since the velvet room is referenced from poe's work as the place right before death, i thot it was just a neat tie in
> 
> 3\. you die when ur candle goes out. made that part different than the drama since like, goblin is korean and persona is japanese. i hope i explained the candle room properly because im strangely really bad at describing places. im trying tho
> 
> theres no number 2


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akira gets pwned >XD

“So have you found a new place yet?”

Akechi looked up from his breakfast, a fruit salad with a hand blended strawberry smoothie. It had been a mere week since he had started taking up residence here. His eyes narrowed.

“I don’t intend to leave, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“So you  _ want _ to live with me?” Akira drawled, taking a monster bite of his cereal. Morgana sat on a pile of books atop a chair next to him, glaring at him with the most vicious glare that Akechi had ever seen on a cat. Akira glanced at him, then back at Akechi.

“He’s mad because you’re sitting where he used to sit.”

“You let your cat sit at the dining table.”

Morgana hissed.

“He says he’s not a cat,” Akira translated, taking another bite. “He’s right, by the way. You should treat him with respect.”

The shinigami took a long sip of his smoothie.

“I paid money to be here, money that Mishima cannot return. So I will be staying here as long as I please.”

“I’ll return the money,” Akira cut in. “How many weeks of rent did you pay for?”

“521.”

“Holy fuck that's ten years.”

“Indeed it is.”

Stormy gray eyes squinted at Akechi from across the table. Akechi glared right back. Morgana stopped glaring to take a sip from Akira’s cereal bowl. Akira pushed him away with one hand.

“That’s a very cat thing to do.”

“He’s not a cat.”

Morgana hissed again.

“I’ll pay the rent back.”

“With what money?”

“I make it rain, reaper,” Akira growled, wiggling his fingers.

Akechi snorted and returned to his meal.

“I’m not a reaper. And there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve made a contract with Mishima, all in paper and pen,” he said smugly, taking a dainty bite of salad. “The house is mine and if you find it uncomfortable sharing a living space with me, you’re free to use that money that you planned on ‘raining’ upon me and find yourself a new establishment.”

Akira jerked up in his seat, his hands clenching the side of the table. Morgana was licking from his bowl again, but he didn’t notice this time.

“That’s probably not okay for a cat to drink,” Akechi commented.

“You’re kidding me,” Akira interrupted, shock lining his face. “Mishima signed a contract with you?”

“It’s legally binding,” he nodded.

“No way. Mishima wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that to me,” he moaned desperately.

Without looking up, Akechi pulled a folded bit of paper out of his suit pocket and held it up. He took another bite of salad.

“You’re bluffing.”

He flicked his wrist and unraveled the contract.

“It’s even got a stamp,” Akechi noted.

“That idiot’s made a deal with death…”

“Signed, sealed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

If Akechi looked any more smug than he did, he might as well have dropped dead. Akira snarled.

“Give it to me.”

“In your dreams, you nasty little hobgoblin.”

Akira snapped his fingers, his face steeled in cold determination. The paper between two gloved fingers was set ablaze, blue light licking the edges and eating away at the ink. Akechi dropped it on the table, unperturbed.

“That was a copy.”

Akira hissed in frustration, scratching his head roughly.

“Dammit! What’s it gonna take you to leave my damn house?!” he cried, slamming his hands on the table like a petulant child. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

Akechi couldn’t help the huge grin that appeared on his face.

“Shut up!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“I said what I said!”

“Have it your way,” he shrugged, finishing off his smoothie and leaving the table. “By the way, I would really appreciate it if you’d be a little quieter at night. I can hear you talking to yourself all the way from my room.”

“I’m talking to Morgana you absolute fucking walnut.”

“This absolute fucking walnut requests that you shut up after 10, thank you.”

Akira was left to the distant sound of Akechi washing his dishes as he sat at the dinner table, staring at the dying light of the charred contract copy. Morgana licked up the last of the milk in his bowl, shaking his head.

“Sorry. You lost this one,” he said, patting the mononoke’s hand with a paw. “Don’t go around causing thunderstorms or anything because of it, though. I can’t stand the rain.”

“Dear Morgana, your master is pained,” Akira bemoaned, clutching his chest. “Doest thou not desire to avenge thine honor?”

“Quit the ancient speak, old man,” the cat sniffed, turning his tail. “I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready to return to the 21st century. Lady Ann texted while you were asleep; she wants to meet us for dinner tonight and I’ve got to pick out a gift to commemorate our long-awaited reunion.”

“Fiendish feline,” he hissed as Morgana left. “I should have thee made into a hat. Had thee  _ skinned _ ! I’ve no allies left in this wretched world!”

He was greeted with silence. Suddenly, a fear struck him.

“Don’t use my card!” Akira called out again, ungracefully leaping up from his seat. “You have your own! _ Morgana! _ ”

* * *

          text to: PANTHER

**JOKER:** where do you want to meet?

**PANTHER:** uhh i dont really care honestly

**PANTHER:** i was thinking your house

**PANTHER:** like usual

**JOKER:** mmm sorry. not this time.

**PANTHER:** ?? somethin up?

**JOKER:** i’ll tell you later. you sound like you’ve got something worse on your mind.

**PANTHER:** ugh, the usual. except worse.

**PANTHER:** the lady passed away before i could even meet her

**PANTHER:** …

**PANTHER:** this sucks …

**JOKER:** you sure youre looking for a dinner and not a drink?

**PANTHER:** i definitely wouldnt mind that www

**PANTHER:** are you paying?

 

**PANTHER:** joker i was kidding dont ignore me

**JOKER:** your alcohol tolerance is no joke.

**PANTHER:** sorry i just feel like shit

 

**JOKER:** meet you at my house, then. i got a surprise for you.

* * *

He let the water trickle down his wrist and wet his sleeves as he stared blankly at the cup in his hands. Akechi was in the Velvet Tea Room again, and his most recent client had just left. There was nothing wrong with this particular client or anything; in fact, he had brought his paperwork here, so that he could finish it in peace. By all accounts, everything should be fine.

But here he was, stuck in this dull trance yet again, because of Sae Nijiima’s words.

_ “Given what it takes to even become a shinigami in the first place, I’m not surprised.” _

He reached over to turn off the water, which had been wastefully falling straight into the drain, now that he had stood up straight enough that the cup didn’t even reach the stream. The knob squeaked shut and he shook the water off his hands, wiping them on a towel.

Being a shinigami was a punishment. The arduous hours, the emotional weight of the work involved, and the awkward existence of being neither living or dead … none of it was exactly the conditions of a dream job. His role was limited to a place where people would come only to leave. The Velvet Tea Room would be no different from a singular gas station in the empty country road or an airport with one functioning aircraft. No one ever came to stay.

He wiped the cup thoughtfully, a frown forming on his face as he lost himself to his thoughts. It made sense to assume that as a result of whatever they had done in their past lives, they had become shinigami to repent for that sin. And it seemed that the suicide of Kobayakawa had basically confirmed that.

But how in the world had Kobayakawa recalled his past memories? He couldn’t have done it himself.

_ “Why are you telling me something so classified?” _

_ “You know why.” _

Akechi’s lips pressed together into a hard line. He flipped the cup upside-down and left it on the drying rack.

“You’re looking awfully thoughtful today Sir Shinigami.”

“Holy--”

He jumped, nearly tripping over his own feet and catching himself against the edge of the counter.

“When did you get in here?!” he snapped accusingly, flustered at how easily he had been caught off-guard.

Akira Kurusu just whistled lowly as he took a good look at the chamber, tracing his fingers against the wood of the table before he knocked back the chair with his foot and sat down. It was a motion graceful in its roguish manner, a wide, happy grin on his face as he tipped the seat back and leaned on its back legs. Akechi stared coldly.

“How did you get in here?”

“Same way I came outta the closet. Duh.”

“Why? How? When?” he demanded, looking increasingly defensive.

“Relax, it’s not that serious. Asked some local ghosts along the way where the shinigami usually is. You didn’t come home fast enough so I decided to come to you,” Akira explained, picking at his nails and inspecting them before looking up, startled. “Sorry, should I have brought some fruit? Watermelons are expensive these days.”

“Get out.”

“No way. I’ve got business with you. Are you usually this rude to your clients? If I could die, I really would not want having someone like you holding my hand on my way out.”

“What business?” Akechi asked, fists clenched.

Akira motioned for him to sit down.

“Kurusu, if this is about the contract --”

“It isn’t. Well, kinda. It plays a part into it. Shut up and listen,” he hissed impatiently, urging him to sit faster. “It’s about our housemateship.”

“I’m … certain that isn’t a word.”

“Words are a social construct. Anyway, I’ve thought long and hard about things. I’ve tossed and turned. I’ve cried myself to sleep. I’ve spoken to my therapist, Dr. Morgana--”

“Get on with it,” Akechi snapped, sitting across from him.

Akira folded his hands together, sitting up straight, composing himself in the most professional manner that Akechi had ever seen on him.

“I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that no matter what I do, I will never be able to evict you from my house --”

“ _ My  _ house.”

“Which is why I am willing to settle on this manner. In exchange for doing my laundry and letting me go about my business as per usual, I will try my utmost to live in a peaceful, civil coexistence. I will not bother you while you are working, I will be quiet when you go to bed, and I will no longer refer to you as an ‘absolute fucking walnut’.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his seat.

“You can’t barge into my workplace like this either.”

“I can’t guarantee that. What if I need you?”

“What the hell would you need me for?”

“Housemate purposes. You never know.”

This whole affair sounded highly suspect.

“Is your mistress in Australia ever going to come and ransack the place? I want you to take responsibility for my belongings if she does.”

Akira swore under his breath, something that sounded an awful lot like ‘fucking Mishima’.

“I do not have a mistress in Australia, though I do know a number of lovely ladies there. None of them will be out to attack the house in an act of cruel, illegal vengeance.”

Akechi opened his mouth.

“Nor will any of my other acquaintances,” the mononoke interrupted. He paused. “Hopefully.”

Akechi closed it.

“We can iron out the finer details as we hit them, but for now, is that good? Can we live together peacefully?”

Akira held out a hand, a blue flame lighting the tips of his fingers. The shinigami raised a brow, eyeing it. He was asking for an oath, not just a contract. A promise that resulted in divine punishment if broken. Akechi held onto his silence for a moment longer, before sighing in reluctant agreement.

“Fine.”

With frost-tipped fingers, Akechi gripped Akira’s, sealing the deal. Akira grinned.

“Great. Because I have a friend coming over for dinner and we’ve already made plans. And this counts as my daily business so you can’t complain. Also, you’re invited, so no sleeping! She gets loud when she’s drunk.”

He didn’t think a shinigami could get any paler, but Akechi turned a solid white as he realized the implication of his agreement.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” laughed the Trickster.


End file.
